


Focal Point

by SovereignViolette



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Beta Read, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8963245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SovereignViolette/pseuds/SovereignViolette
Summary: "I'll use you as a focal point, so I don't lose sight of what I want."Edit: 2/24/2017 This is now rated Teen+ because of language.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ceruleansmile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceruleansmile/gifts).



> First: I would absolutely love a beta reader.
> 
> Second: This is for my wife-to-be for Christmas. I love you, darlin'!

“You’re not as stealthy as you think, you know.”

Steve hummed and took another sip of his coffee. He wasn’t surprised she’d spotted him. Not many could escape Natasha’s notice; she’d been trained to be the best _by_ the best, after all.

She gracefully slid into the chair next to him. Not opposite—to let Steve continue to stare, he realized. One corner of his mouth quirked up into a genuine, if small, smile.

“You make a shit spy, Rogers. When you keep an eye on your target, you’re not supposed to blatantly stare at him.”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not really trying to hide.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Really? The sunglasses, beard and plain, baggy civilian clothes say otherwise.” He said nothing. She sighed. “Steve—”

Finally, he looked away from the man who haunted his dreams to give her his attention. “You changed your hair color.”

It was true. Same length, but bright blonde. No longer red. Probably not for long, either; she knew how to change identities as well as water knew how to be fluid. At one time, it was a trait that frustrated him—pissed him off, actually. But not any more. It was just who Natasha was.

She accepted the change in topic long enough for her to flag down a waiter. “They say blondes have more fun,” she said by way of explanation.

He chuckled. “I thought they said that about brunettes.”

A small smile played at her lips. “Maybe I should try a dark brown?”

“I prefer red.”

The smile crumbled. She didn’t frown, but it was a near-thing. Instead, she studied him like a scientist would a micro organism under a microscope. She opened her mouth to say something Steve was sure he wasn’t going to like, but thankfully, a petite gentleman interrupted them. At his polite inquiry, Natasha ordered a fudge brownie with a single scoop of vanilla ice cream and sweet iced tea. The waiter jotted down her order and told them both he’d be back momentarily.

Steve, for his part, lost interest in the conversation in favor of staring at Iron Man across the street in the park. He was surrounded by a bunch of excited children, all begging for an autograph on whatever was handy. James Rhodes, Tony’s best friend, was propped up against a tree a short distance behind him, arms crossed casually over his chest as he watched on in apparent amusement. Occasionally, he said something to Iron Man, but whatever it was, was lost over the sound of New York chatter, traffic and squealing children.

Once, Steve would have been beside Tony. He would have been the one to sign autographs beside him, maybe take pictures with him. Tony’s mouth would be a constant run of commentary; jokes, playful jibes, statistical facts or encouragements for the kids. Whatever that’d come to mind.

But he couldn’t do any of that now. The Avengers wasn’t Steve’s team—it probably never really was. Steve didn’t agree with Tony; Tony didn’t agree with Steve. It was a fact that ached like a bruised kidney.

Steve wished he could at least see Tony’s face beneath Iron Man’s face plate.

“Why are you here, Steve?” Natasha asked softly.

Why was he here? Steve had been asking himself that since he left Wakanda. It wasn’t safe to be in the ‘States—it especially wasn’t safe to be in _New York_. But there he was, sitting at a simple cafe across the street from a park and watching Iron Man like the rest of the outside patrons.

“I wanted to see how he was doing,” he answered. It was the truth, if incomplete.

“There’s a new invention called a cell phone, Steve. People use it these days to call one another to keep in touch.” The waiter’s return with Natasha’s order interrupted her. She waited until the man left before asking, “I know you’re still behind on the times, but doesn’t a fossil like you have one of those?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at his friend. “Do you think Tony would pick up my call?”

Natasha swiped a forkful of ice cream off her brownie. “I think he would.”

“Do you think he’d _honestly_ tell me how he was doing?”

Natasha dipped her head, conceding Steve’s point.

It was quiet for a while, the sounds of car horns and Natasha’s clinking silverware filling the space between them. Steve absently fiddled with his pencil, twirling it in between his fingers before shading something on his napkin.

Natasha held her cup of tea in both hands as her own gaze shifted to watch as Iron Man hefted two little girls onto his broad shoulders. “If he sees you, he’ll try to bring you in.”

Steve nodded. “I know.”

“Would you let him?” Curious; not offensive.

“No.” A blunt truth.

He couldn’t afford to be captured by Tony and brought before the United States’ government to “pay for his crimes”. Steve didn’t see saving Bucky from death or persecution as a crime. He _wouldn’t_. He didn’t owe anyone an apology. But damn if it didn’t hurt to be separated from his other friends because he chose freedom and Bucky.

Natasha stared at him, a silent, if inquisitive, sentinel. Steve could only imagine what she saw right then. He hadn’t shaved in weeks—hadn’t bothered to keep his facial hair nice and trimmed. His jeans fit him just fine, but his threadbare T-shirt was two sizes too big with a handful of small holes littered about. He was at least grateful his sunglasses hid the bags under his eyes. He wasn’t really up for an interrogation about how little he’d slept in the past couple weeks.

All in all, Steve knew he looked worse for wear. His ma would’ve never allowed him out of their small apartment looking the way he did. Hell, neither would Bucky. A part of Steve was ashamed—he’d been raised to dress smartly. On the whole, however, he just didn’t care.

There was a cluster of whines. Steve spotted drooping shoulders; heard excited pleas for Iron Man to stay. One little boy was bold enough to grab a hold of Iron Man’s gauntlet.

He sighed. It was time to go.

“You going to leave that for him?” Natasha eyed the sketch Steve had finished just before her arrival.

Steve didn’t answer right away. Leaving it would prove he’d been there. Whatever A.I. Tony used now, it was sophisticated enough to find Steve for sure. And maybe Steve could outsmart it for a while; out maneuver the cameras and computers. But he couldn’t do it forever. Especially not with Ross on his tail.

Still, he _wanted_ to leave it for Tony. Or rather, he wanted to give it to his friend himself.

When he opened his mouth to say no, Natasha smoothly rose to her feet, dug into her pocket for her wallet and set a few bills on the table. The abrupt action had Steve climbing to his feet as well. He held out an arm for her to take, but she stretched it around her waist and snuggled into his side as though she’d done it a thousand times before.

Natasha escorted them through the cafe and out onto the busy sidewalk, smiling adoringly up at him as though he’d just taken her out on a date instead of her crashing his alone time. “Sorry, Steve.”

Steve ducked his head so only she could hear him. “Ross’s men?”

Natasha shrugged. “Or CIA. Or FBI. You haven’t exactly made friends with your refusal to sign the Accords, Steve.”

He said nothing. He’d already gone over that and he wasn’t about to do it again. Besides, he had bigger things to worry about.

“C’mon,” Natasha steered them around the street corner toward the subway station. “Sam’s making lunch.”

“Is he?”

“Yeah. You’ll probably get an earful of how you shouldn’t leave your wingman in another country with your grilled cheese.”

 

_____

 

“Sir?”

“Yes, Friday?” Tony answered distractedly, gently prying the little boy off his arm with a promise of seeing him again.

“You requested I inform you if the U.S. Secretary of State mobilized any men within a ten mile radius of you or Avengers Tower.”

Tony straightened. Of course he’d taken precautions—just in case Ross decided the Avengers were too great of a threat to keep around. He might have agreed with Ross about the Accords but that didn’t mean he liked or trusted the man.

Tony took a few steps back. He motioned for Rhodey to distract the kids. “Status on the other Avengers?”

“They are unharmed and are not in danger presently, sir.”

He frowned. “What’s happening, Friday?”

“It appears a small task force is approaching _Shirley’s Cafe_ not thirty meters from your location, sir,” Friday relayed.

Shirley’s Cafe? But that was right… across… the street.

Tony turned toward the business, the screen inside his helmet enhancing his view. Five suits approached the outside of the cafe, looking around for something—or some _one_ —that was no longer there.

The thrusters started up with a simple command. He ignored the excited shouts of the kiddies as he slew across the street. He landed swiftly, mindful not to knock over a little old lady with a cane, on the sidewalk before the cafe’s small black gate. One of the suits—the leader, Tony surmised—gave him a once over. Then, “Did you know he was here?”

“Did I know who was here?” Tony asked. He had a feeling he knew who they were talking about. If they weren’t here for him and Rhodey, then that meant there were here for something—someone—just as important. And there were only so many people as valuable as two members of the Avengers.

An ex-Avenger.

“Sir,” a suit interrupted. He held up a single piece of paper between his gloved thumb and forefinger.

The head suit held his hand out for the paper, clearly dismissing Tony Stark as though he were no longer worth his time.

“Friday.”

The screen zoomed in on the lined paper in the suit’s hand.

Tony swallowed.

It was a sketch of him in the Iron Man suit. He was holding up a little girl with pigtails and adorable bowed shoes. He held her protectively, as though no bad in the world could or would dare touch her with him right there. Her small hand laid wonderingly over the ARC reactor case. By Thor’s shiny rainbow bridge, he could see the individual strands of her _hair_.

The scene in the picture had really happened. He didn’t know how long he’d been with the munchkins—they’d ambushed him when he’d made that pit stop in the park—but it’d been at least twenty minutes.

The picture hadn’t been signed but it didn’t have to be for Tony to know who drew it.

Tony’s shoulders almost sagged with the weight of the revelation.

Steve was in New York.

He didn’t wait for the suit to try and question him before taking off into the sky. “Friday, run a facial recognition for Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, through traffic cameras, phones, the whole shebang.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?” For an A.I., she sure could be snarky. Maybe he’d have to reprogram her to be more polite. Eventually. Probably.

“Tell Rhodey Happy’s on his way to come get him.” He paused. “Call Happy and tell him to pick up Rhodey, first.”


	2. Seams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "And I'll use you as a warning sign..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will edit this again at a later date. Enjoy!

Sam wasn’t happy.

 

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He was happy enough. Natasha and Steve showed up at the apartment Sam had rented on-the-fly unharmed, if paranoid—and rightfully so. Steve had become edgier—and wow, the man’s threshold for being wound up tighter than an old wind-up toy was higher than Sam thought possible—upon seeing him. Once Sam explained T’Challa had vowed on his honor to keep Bucky Barnes safe, and Wanda had volunteered to help find a solution in getting Hydra’s influence and codewords out of Bucky’s head, Steve had relaxed considerably. One rant about leaving behind best friends in other countries later, Steve humbled himself and apologized for not taking Sam along when he left Wakanda. Sam had shrugged, said they were cool, and served Steve up three grilled cheese sandwiches. After he’d eaten, Steve had excused himself to the only bedroom in the apartment for a nap.

 

Sam hadn’t called bullshit, but only because he hadn’t thought it’d do anyone any good. Instead, Sam busied himself with collecting the paper plates abandoned on the kitchen counter and tossed them in the trash can.

 

“He’s probably looking out the window,” Natasha commented idly. She saddled up to his side at the counter, elbows digging into the granite as she cradled her face in her palms. She wasn’t looking at him but he didn’t think for one second she didn’t have an eye on him.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he is.”

 

“He’s probably keeping an eye out for the other Avengers.”

 

_For Tony_ was what she didn’t say.

 

_Are we Avengers anymore_ was what he didn’t ask.

 

“A smart move, considering.”

 

When she fell silent, Sam approached the refrigerator. Its contents made even him feel sorry: bread, butter, cheese, and an open twelve pack of water bottles. He needed to go shopping soon.

 

Sam reached in for a water bottle as she casually said, “He hasn’t been sleeping.”

 

Slowly, he straightened to his full height; took the time to uncap his bottle and take a swig of the cool water before answering, “I had a feeling he wasn’t.”

 

Steve didn’t need much sleep with the super soldier serum, but running on just a handful of hours for days at a time? That was extreme. Maybe that could be expected, given all he’d gone through in recent months. Maybe this was Steve’s way of processing grief. But it wasn’t healthy, and it wasn’t without consequences.

 

Hence being in New York.

 

Natasha let out a slow breath. He thought she was going to come out and say what she’d been hinting at—in their line of work, they didn’t have the luxury of beating around the bush—but she told him, “I’m glad he has a friend like you.”

 

Sam almost told her Steve had her, too, but thought better of it. He couldn’t put her in that position when she was determined to hug the fence.

 

“You talked with any of the others recently?” Sam inquired. He opened the refrigerator with his free hand, a silent offer, but she shook her head. The door closed with a quiet _shnick_.

 

Natasha threw him a mysterious smirk. He didn’t know her too well but he could have sworn her lips wobbled. He could have been seeing things, though.

 

“Clint said he liked your wings. He thought about getting a pair of his own, but I convinced him not to. One flying bird is all Steve needs.”

 

He was going to take that as a no. It did sort of surprise him. He thought Natasha and Stark had a weird, if effective, friendship. Something must have happened between them sometime during the fight at the airport and now.

 

Sam didn’t ask.

 

There was a brief silence. Both tried to figure out if there was any point in addressing the elephant in the room. Any point in addressing how Steve was unraveling.

 

Finally, Sam raised the proverbial white flag. It wasn’t like it’d do any good when Cap wasn’t around to hear their concerns, anyway.

 

“So… you meet the new kid? Spider Boy?”

 

_____

 

Tony had to hand it to him, for a technologically-challenged fossil, Steve was good at evading cameras. Tony didn’t expect to find Steve easily, of course, but it’d been a couple _hours_ now. He should have found him by now. Natasha—or SHIELD, _or_ the Army—must have given him a couple pointers for staying off the grid.

 

Tony glared at his computer screens. How was it _Ross_ was able to find Steve, and not _Tony_ , anyway? He had better resources; shinier toys. Friday. (He was _not_ bitter at having been caught unaware. He _wasn’t_.)

 

He huffed at himself. Steve wasn’t a toy he didn’t want to share. He was a person—a person who needed to be brought in to the U.S. government, even if Ross hadn’t given the order for the Avengers to seek the others out.

 

His feet carried him to the glass window overlooking New York. The sun was setting; shop and home lights were beginning to flicker on. In an hour or two, cars would be mimicking fire flies and making just as much ruckus as they did in the day, street lights would light the way for pedestrians—not that it’d make much of a difference; people still didn’t look where they were going.

 

“Mr. Stark, if I may?”

 

“What is it, Friday?”

 

“I recommend you retire, sir. I will continue the search for Captain Rogers and awaken you if I find him.”

 

At the mention of Steve, Tony frowned. What was he thinking, coming back to New York? Why put himself at risk? Did he miss home? Was New York even _home_ to Steve anymore? Did he want to prove he could sneak in and out of the country without getting caught?

 

Did he… Did he need Tony? The Avengers? Was he in danger?

 

Tony shook his head, forcibly dispelling that line of thought. Steve and his friends—not _their friends_ , not anymore—had gotten themselves into the mess they were in. Refusing to sign the Sokovia Accords, instigating a fight with their former teammates, being on the run from the U.S. and other countries. None of it had needed to happen. But it did and now they had to deal with the consequences. Tony couldn’t—wouldn’t—bail them out.

 

They deserved to be hunted.

 

His damaged heart lurched painfully in his chest. Damn thing didn’t understand that logic outweighed any feelings he had on the matter.

 

He made a mental note to confiscate the sketch Steve drew from Ross.

 

“I’ll stay up for a while longer, Friday.”

 

“As you wish.”

 

_____

 

“ ** _That shield doesn’t belong to you._** ”

 

It does. It _did_. The shield was an extension of himself; the perfect weapon for him. He’d taken down Nazis, aliens and robots with it; protected his own with it.

 

It felt _right_ to hold the shield in his hands.

 

His right forearm throbbed faintly with its missing weight.

 

Outside, cars honked at wayward pedestrians not following the crosswalk sign. People passed by each other on the sidewalk without blinking an eye.

 

Steve wondered if there would ever come a time he could disappear without someone after him.

 

“ ** _You don’t deserve it._** ”

 

God knew he didn’t.

 

At one point, he was almost sure he did. Erskine had chosen him to be the sole candidate for _Project: Rebirth_ . He’d wanted a good man. Steve had been dubious about the idea—sure, he was a swell fella, but he wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t well-off or in good health. All he’d wanted to do was serve his country. _Prove_ he could be like the men selflessly risking their lives. _Be something greater_.

 

But then he’d gone through war and loss and pain. He traveled through time. Somewhere along the line, he lost what it meant to be a good man.

 

A good man didn’t turn on his friends. A good man didn’t sacrifice his friends—the ones fighting _against him_ or _for him_ —to save one man.

 

_But it was Bucky,_ a voice from too long ago whispered. A voice belonging to a skinny kid from Brooklyn who was furious about always being counted out because he was the little guy.

 

Steve sighed. That was the kicker, though, wasn’t it? If it had been anyone else, Steve wouldn’t have done all he did; he’d have been more forthcoming and willing to listen. Maybe he could have worked on the Accords; make them better, more accommodating. Maybe he could have talked to Tony in private about what happened with his parents.

 

He hadn’t. None of it had worked out for the better. Everything was… so screwed up now.

 

The choice had been Bucky. _His Bucky._ There was no other option.

 

No other _acceptable_ option.

 

“ ** _My_ ** **father** **_made that shield!_** ”

 

Howard Stark made more than just the shield. He assisted in making _Captain America_ , a far more recognizable achievement than a vibranium shield capable of defying the laws of physics.

His hands clenched into fists on the windowsill. The title of Captain America had a new meaning now. Nothing like it was in his time. (His _old_ time.)

 

Then, it was about being a good man and a good soldier. Then, he was supposed to serve his country; save it. Whatever needed to get done, he did, regardless of approval or orders. Because lives needed saving and he was the only man who could get the job done. Well, him, Bucky, and the Howling Commandos.

 

Now, it meant surrendering his right to choose to the governments of the world. It meant handing Bucky over to people with agendas—agendas could change at any given time, without warning or negotiation—and allowing him to be used and treated as anything other than a war hero _finally_ returning home. A _tortured soldier_ who’d been forced to commit heinous crimes against his will. It meant being tying a rope around Steve’s neck, leashing himself like a dog and waiting to be told what to do.

 

Steve wasn’t all that good at following orders. His last stunt with S.H.I.E.L.D. alone proved that. Hell, his life after Sokovia proved it.

 

“Get outta the street, ya crazy broad!” a man in a taxi cab below hollered.

 

Steve scratched absently at his skin. He had healed up from his last fight in a matter of weeks.

 

“Bite me, ya fuckin’ prick!” a middle-aged business woman barked back.

 

How long had it taken for Tony to heal up? Was he even fully healed? Did Steve… God, he’d done a number on Tony’s suit; busted the ARC reactor. Had he cracked Tony’s ribs?

 

“What’d ya say, bitch?”

 

He swallowed hard. There wasn’t enough air in the room. His lungs burned and heaved in a way they hadn’t since he was a sickly kid. Poorly painted walls closed in on him; it was so _hot_ in there.

 

“You heard me, asshole! _Bite me_!”

 

The world was so _loud_. Filled with too many people.

 

“Why don’t ya say that to my face, huh?”

 

He had to get out of there.

 

“Ha! Like I want to get any closer to your greasy ass!”

 

He needed to _think_.

 

There was no second-guess himself as he climbed out the window.

 

_____

 

It was too quiet. So many things could happen in silence. Slitting throats, planting trackers, taking pictures, downloading incriminating evidence.

 

She’d like to say her mind didn’t always turn down this road, but it did. She was trained to be an assassin and nothing would ever turn off her instincts.

 

Natasha knew Steve was the type to brood in silence or blow up angry. Seeing how nothing was being reduced to splinters via rage-fueled super soldier strength, she could only assume he was brooding.

 

Natasha didn’t have time for brooding super soldiers. They had to find a way to get out of the country undetected with Steve’s face plastered all over the local media and Ross’ men—and more than likely Tony—keeping an eye out for him. _Them_.

 

Steve may be fanciful enough to dream about seeing Tony again this soon and nothing going wrong, but Natasha wasn’t.

 

Silent as a panther stalking its prey, she padded down the hallway to Steve’s room. She knocked twice and called, “Steve?”

 

No answer.

 

She sighed through her nose. She loved Steve, she really did, but sometimes, he was just a walking, talking headache. “Steve, I know you miss everyone.” _Tony_. “But now isn’t the time for this. Bucky needs you.” She had no qualms with playing dirty.

 

Still no answer.

 

Natasha knocked again, this time more insistently. “Come on, Big Guy. I know today was tough, but put on your big boy pants and come out here.”

 

When he didn’t answer, she tried the doorknob.

 

It was locked.

 

A bolt of panic shot through her stomach. “Open this door, Rogers. _Now_ ,” she growled through clenched teeth.

 

There was only silence.

 

Something wasn’t right. Steve would never ignore her like this. Not when things were so high-strung for them.

 

Stepping back, Natasha kicked the door in.

 

She swore colorfully.

  
Sam met her before she could get halfway out of the apartment. She didn’t let him get a word in edgewise. “Suit up. Steve’s missing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: I would absolutely love a beta-reader. Please. XD
> 
> Secondly: I apologize for this taking so long. I'm hoping the next chapter will be lengthier and won't take as long to post!
> 
> Lastly: Reviews are welcomed and cherished. They make me feel happy and eager to write more for you!

**Author's Note:**

> I am not good with the technical jargon that makes up the names of Iron Man's suit XD! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter. Reviews are welcomed.


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